-- MANUSCRIPT OF THE NIGHT --

John Herlihy

The voice of fog horns wailed across the plain,

Amid sirens and plaintive cry of the night train.

The wise barn owl hooted its beckoning sound,

Grinding of crickets could be heard all around.

The ancient manuscript of the night told tales,

Drawn from a darkness within mountain vales.

The darkness itself born of the absence of light,

Intensified no doubt by the silence of the night.

The aged parchment opened at the end of day,

The voices, whispers, silence all had their say.

The stars keep themselves high in the heavens

Moonlight spreads like mist on earth’s havens

Ghosts and apparitions ever speak of mystery,

Night tells a tale that evokes a hint of eternity.

Hush and fear not that the night will never end,

There, on the horizon, a light the day to portend.

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(c) John Herlihy 21 March 2019